The rented rcedes Sprinter cut through Manhattan traffic like Larry had been doing this his whole life, which he probably had. The digital clock read 6:17 PM, and the city was shifting from business mode to whatever chaos mode New York evenings brought.
"Anthony's picking up his kids right about now," Amias said, adjusting his seatbelt. He'd sent his usual driver ho early—the man had a family, violin recitals, actual human responsibilities beyond driving a seventeen-year-old rapper around Manhattan.
"Adrian too." Zara added.
"Seventeen thousand," Lexus announced, holding the streaming phone steady despite Larry taking a turn that definitely violated several traffic laws. "Chat's asking where we're headed next."
Amias quickly checked his Legend Maker progress ntally:
THE LEGEND REQUIRENTS:
Place a project in the Billboard Top 3 ❌
Chart a solo track in Billboard Hot 100 Top 20 ❌
90 in One Music Stat ❌
80 in All Core Music Stats ❌
Maintain streaming numbers 300% above industry average ✅ (Maintaining)
Establish own record label with legal docuntation ✅ (Complete)
Negotiate and secure distribution deal ⚙️ (In Progress)
Create visual that exceeds 15 million views ❌
Receive recognition from three industry icons ✅ (1/3 - Dave Tweet)
Headline venue with minimum 15,000 capacity ❌
Stats:
Lyrical Composition: 87/100
Flow Control: 72/100
Rhythm Recognition: 72/100
Music Theory: 83/100
Stage Presence: 70/100
Freestyle Ability: 79/100
lodic Perception: 70/100
Vocal Projection: 81/100
Beat Production: 69/100
Sound Engineering: 61/100
The singing sessions with Zara had definitely helped the rhythm and lodic perception. Still needed that 90 in one stat though.
"Cole Bennett," he told the stream. "About a video."
The chat exploded:
MTN_Soldier: COLE BENNETT COLLAB INCOMING
God Of War: bro bout to get a Lyrical Lemonade video
ViciousKing: this man's rise is actually insane
RandomMTN: GDP bout to go viral
"Chat's going ntal," Jordan observed, reading over Lexus's shoulder. "Soone said you're about to beco a Lyrical Lemonade legend."
The building appeared ahead—industrial chic, the kind of place that scread "important creative decisions happen here." Larry pulled up smooth as butter.
Inside, Cole Bennett was waiting, and seeing him in person still felt surreal. The man behind videos that had shaped a generation, just standing there in jeans and a hoodie like he wasn't basically hip-hop royalty.
"Amias!" Cole's handshake was firm. "Perfect timing, man."
"Appreciate you making ti," Amias replied, gesturing to his crew. "This is everybody."
Cole introduced his team—Dane with the cara, Zoe handling creative direction, Tommy who apparently prevented Cole from forgetting to exist.
"What's good, chat?" Cole said, waving at Lexus's cara.
KidE1: COLE KNOWS ABOUT THE STREAM
k: this collab bout to break the internet
TeeWizHQ: 18k viewers now holy shit
They spent thirty minutes walking through the GDP treatnt—When Oakley would be arriving, Los Angeles locations, lighting setups, performance shots that would make every fra look cinematic. The kind of professional conversation that made Amias feel like he'd leveled up just by being in the room.
"The hook needs sothing special though," Zoe said. "That 'GDP and USD' line hits different—we need visuals that amplify it."
"I trust your vision," Amias said honestly. "You've been doing this longer than I've been making music."
"Speaking of which," Cole's eyes suddenly lit up with that particular brand of creative inspiration that ant soone was about to suggest sothing either brilliant or insane, "this Poland track is going absolutely viral. Have you seen the numbers?"
Amias Knew. Kids dancing to it, codians making parodies, even so cooking show about taking actual woks to Poland. It was popular in no uncertain terms.
"It's actually insane," Amias admitted.
"We should do a video for it," Cole said suddenly. "Like, today. Right now."
The room went quiet for exactly three seconds.
"Yo, we in New York though," Jordan pointed out. "Not Poland."
"True," Cole mused, already getting that look that ant the creative wheels were spinning, "but New York's got everything..."
"Wait," Amias said, creativity sparking. "We're definitely not in Poland, but we got subway stations here. What if we just... go guerrilla style?"
"Move fast, don't ask permission?" Tommy suggested.
"Let's do it," Amias decided. "Chat, y'all want to see us make a music video right now?"
The response was imdiate:
YESSSSSSSS
DO IT DO IT DO IT
Within fifteen minutes, they'd assembled chaos. Amias changed into a backup fit, from a bag filled of backup fits—bright yellow jacket that sohow looked both expensive and street-ready, beanie to contain his braids, baggy jeans that actually fit right.
"First problem," Marcus said as they loaded into vehicles. "We need a Polish flag."
"How hard can that be in Manhattan?" Zara asked.
—
"Poland?" The teenage employee at the Tis Square novelty store stared at them like they'd requested weapons-grade uranium. "Like... the country Poland?"
"Yeah, Poland," Jordan confird patiently. "Red and white flag? European country?"
The kid chewed his gum with the enthusiasm of soone whose shift couldn't end fast enough. "We got Poland Spring water bottles?"
Amias stared at him. "That's... not the sa thing."
"We don't got country flags, man. We got 'I Heart NY' shirts."
"That's not helpful."
"It's five dollars though."
Everyone just stared at him.
"We'll pass," Amias said finally.
Outside, Zel was the first to break. "A flag store that doesn't sell flags. In New York City."
"This is already going terrible," Cole laughed, checking his cara battery.
—
Second stop: A sporting goods store where the manager listened to their increasingly desperate explanation with growing amusent.
"So let understand this," she said slowly. "You're making a music video about taking cough syrup to Poland, and you need an actual Polish flag today?"
"In the next hour, ideally," Cole added helpfully.
She smiled with the patience of soone who'd heard stranger requests. "Honey, I sell sneakers and protein powder. You want flags, try the internet."
"The internet takes ti," Amias explained.
"Then try prayer."
Jordan deadpanned at the cara. "At this point I'm questioning if Poland is even a real place."
—
Third stop: So random import store in the Village that Google claid sold international items. The owner, a middle-aged woman with paint under her fingernails, listened to their story while reorganizing what appeared to be handmade pottery.
"Polish flag?" she repeated. "For a music video?"
"About taking Wockhardt to Poland," Amias clarified, not sure why that detail felt important.
"What's Wockhardt?"
"Cough syrup."
"Why would you take cough syrup to Poland?"
Amias paused. "That's... actually a really good question."
She stared at him for a long mont. "I sell pottery and wind chis. Try a flag store."
"We tried the flag store!"
"Try a different flag store."
"How many flag stores does one city need?" Zel asked nobody in particular.
—
By the fourth stop, they'd started asking random pedestrians. Cole approached a businessman walking past with that particular New York pace that suggested he had sowhere important to be.
"Excuse , do you know where we could find a Polish flag?"
The man didn't even slow down. "Try Amazon."
"We need it today!"
"Try Amazon Pri!"
"But we need it right now!"
The man turned around, walking backwards now. "Try Amazon Sa-Day Delivery!"
"Do they even deliver flags?"
"How the hell should I know? Do I look like Jeff Bezos to you?"
Amias was starting to understand why New Yorkers had a reputation.
—
That's when they spotted him.
An elderly man walking down the sidewalk, moving with the careful deliberation of soone who'd seen seven decades worth of nonsense. And in his weathered hand, attached to a small wooden stick, was a Polish flag.
"No fucking way," Zel breathed.
"I'm asking," Amias decided, already jogging toward the man.
"Sir! Excuse , sir!"
The man turned, revealing a face that had clearly survived things most people only read about in history books. His eyes moved from Amias to the caras to the rest of the crew with increasing suspicion.
"Yes?" Heavy accent, but clear English.
"Hi, sorry to bother you, but we're making a music video and we've been looking everywhere for a Polish flag—"
The man's face imdiately darkened. "Music video about what?"
Oh. "It's called Poland. The song."
"You make fun of Poland?" His grip tightened on the flag stick.
"No, no, no," Amias said quickly. "It's not making fun of anything. Here, let play it—"
He pulled out his phone, but the man stepped back, flag raised defensively.
"You are Russian spies?" he demanded, eyes wild. "KGB? You co for Stanisław?"
"What? No, we're—"
"I FIGHT YOU!" the old man suddenly shouted, swinging the flag stick like a weapon. "I FIGHT KGB BASTARDS!"
"Sir, we're not—"
"RUN! EVERYONE RUN!" Stanisław scread, apparently deciding fight was less preferable than flight. He took off down the sidewalk with surprising speed for his age, still waving the flag.
"Should we—" Cole started.
"We're chasing him," Amias decided.
"Oh, I'm getting this," Lexus said, running while trying to keep the shot steady.
So there they were: a Arican-British musician, a legendary music video director, and assorted crew mbers chasing a seventy-year-old Polish man through Manhattan while he scread about the KGB.
"HELP! RUSSIAN SPIES!" Stanisław yelled at passing pedestrians, most of whom just stepped aside like this was normal Tuesday behavior.
"Sir, we just need the flag!" Amias called out, gaining ground.
"NO FLAG FOR COMMUNISTS!"
A woman walking her dog actually stopped to watch the chase. "You guys filming sothing?"
"Music video!" Cole shouted without breaking stride.
"Cool! Can I be in it?"
"Sure! Follow us!"
Now they had a parade: Stanisław fleeing in terror, Amias and crew in pursuit, and a random New Yorker with a tiny dog bringing up the rear.
Stanisław ducked into a corner store, still clutching his flag. Through the window, they could see him gesticulating wildly at the clerk, pointing outside.
"Maybe we should—" Zara started.
A car pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, and "That Guy" started blasting from the speakers.
"YO! AMIAS "
The driver was maybe twenty-five, Yankees cap, huge grin. And waving out his window was a Polish flag.
"Are you serious right now?" Amias laughed.
"BRO! I was the one who threw this to you at your show yesterday!"
"No way! Yo, can we borrow that flag?"
"You can have it! I was saving it for my apartnt but this is better!"
The timing was so perfect it felt scripted. Amias grabbed the flag and imdiately took off running down the street, purely from the adrenaline of the mont.
"WHAT'S YOUR NA?" he shouted back.
"MIKE! STREAM WHAT'S GOOD! @MIKEFROMQUEENS ON EVERYTHING!"
Lexus was sprinting behind him, cara bouncing wildly, trying to capture Amias running through Manhattan traffic with a Polish flag streaming behind him like so kind of revolutionary.
"YO AMIAS!" soone shouted from a building window.
"THAT'S AMIAS!" ca from a group on the corner.
"POLAND!" a kid yelled, doing the dance he'd apparently learned from TikTok.
By the ti they regrouped, Amias was breathing hard but grinning. "Did we just—"
"We just chased an old man through Manhattan and got saved by a fan," Cole confird. "That's definitely going in the video."
The chat was absolute chaos:
LMAOOOOOOOOO
Hyuga_Tobirama: WWWWW
MTN_MAYHEM: BRO REALLY CHASED A SENIOR CITIZEN
VIALING: THIS IS THE BEST STREAM EVER
MIKEFROMQUEENS: YO THATS CHAT
LebronJasJas: COLE'S FACE DURING THE CHASE
Ninja23: I CANT BREATHE
"Alright," Cole said, still catching his breath. "Now we make a music video."
What followed was the most chaotic hour of guerrilla filmmaking in Manhattan history.
They started at the subway entrance, Amias lip-syncing while walking down the steps, yellow jacket popping against the grimy tiles. The first thing that hit him was the sll—that particular New York subway blend of humanity, cleaning products, and sothing unidentifiable but definitely organic.
"This is ntal," he said between takes. "I've never been in a New York subway before."
"You're about to get the full experience," Larry warned.
They were setting up for another shot when Amias heard squeaking from the tracks. He looked down to see a rat the size of a small cat dragging what appeared to be half a pigeon.
"What the hell," Amias said, staring.
"Welco to New York," Mitch comnted dryly.
"That rat is eating a whole bird."
"Circle of life."
"That's not circle of life, that's post-apocalyptic nightmare."
"Sa thing down here."
The train arrived with a screech that probably violated noise ordinances. They jumped on, Cole filming while trying to look like a regular passenger. Amias lip-synced in the corner while other passengers stared, so recognizing him, others just confused about why soone was singing into caras on the downtown 6 train.
"Yo, is that Amias Mars?" a teenager asked her friend.
"I think so. Should we ask for a picture?"
"He's working."
"So?"
An older man in a business suit looked up from his phone. "Could you keep it down? So of us are trying to read."
Amias just smiled and kept mouthing the words to Poland while Cole fild from three different angles. New York truly didn't give a damn about anything.
They got off at Union Square, running up the stairs while Cole fild from behind. They spent twenty minutes getting shots of Amias jumping over subway railings, dancing with Jordan in an empty alcove, walking through the crowds with the Polish flag draped over his shoulders.
"YOOO, THAT'S AMIAS!" soone shouted from across the square.
"DO THE POLAND DANCE!" a group of kids demanded.
So naturally, Amias and Jordan did their improvised choreography right there in Union Square—hands together, one foot up, slide down, opposite feet, like they'd been practicing it for years instead of making it up five minutes ago.
The crowd that gathered started doing it too. Within minutes, there were maybe thirty people doing the dance in the middle of Manhattan while Cole fild everything.
"This is actually insane," Zara said, watching the chaos unfold.
"Twenty-three thousand viewers," Lexus reported. "Chat's going ntal."
FLASH MOB IN UNION SQUARE
THIS IS LEGENDARY
BEST STREAM OF ALL TI
A security guard approached, looking tired. "You guys got permits for this?"
"We're just... dancing?" Amias offered.
"With professional caras?"
"Tourist caras?"
The guard stared at them for a long mont, then shrugged. "Just don't block foot traffic."
"New York's wild," Jordan laughed as they moved to their next location.
They shot Amias climbing over railings in Washington Square Park, walking through crowds in SoHo, lip-syncing while leaning against brick walls that probably belonged in a museum. Every few blocks, soone recognized him.
"YO AMIAS!"
"THAT'S THE POLAND GUY!"
"CAN WE GET A PICTURE?"
"LOVE YOUR MUSIC BRO!"
By the ti the sun started setting, they had enough footage for three videos. The guerrilla approach had captured sothing special—the energy of the city, the spontaneity of the mont, the pure chaos of trying to make art in real ti.
"That's going to be incredible," Cole said, reviewing the footage as they walked. "Like, genuinely special. Raw in all the right ways."
They found themselves in SoHo at a restaurant with outdoor seating, string lights making everything feel warm despite the February chill. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, leaving everyone simultaneously exhausted and energized.
They'd ordered from multiple food trucks—Thai noodles, New York pizza, so kind of fusion sandwich that probably cost too much but looked incredible. The perfect end to a perfectly chaotic day.
"I can't believe we actually did that," Zara said, stealing one of Amias's fries.
"I can't believe it worked," Cole replied, still going through footage.
"I can't believe that old man thought we were Russian spies," Zel added.
"I can't believe that rat was eating a pigeon," Amias said.
Everyone went quiet for a mont.
"Different city, different energy," Mitch observed.
"Different rats," Jordan added.
They were halfway through their food when it happened.
"YO, AMIAS!"
A young guy ca sprinting toward their table like his life depended on it, phone clutched in his hand, practically vibrating with excitent. He looked maybe nineteen, wearing a hoodie that had definitely seen better days.
Larry imdiately shifted, hand moving instinctively, but the kid's energy was pure fan enthusiasm, not threat.
"OH MAN, OH MAN, I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!" the guy was shouting as he approached, drawing stares from other diners. "I was just walking to my boy's place and I saw you sitting here and I'm like, that's really him!"
"What's good, man," Amias replied, trying to read the situation.
"Bro, I been following you since the GRM Daily thing dropped! That freestyle was crazy! And Poland—man, that song got through my breakup, no cap!"
"Sure. What's your na?"
"I'm Anthony—wait, no, that's your driver's na probably—I'm Alex. But everybody calls Lex, but not like your cara guy, different Lex—"
The introduction was charmingly chaotic. Amias found himself smiling despite the interruption.
"You want an autograph or sothing?"
"Nah, nah," Alex said quickly, then imdiately contradicted himself. "Well, yeah, but actually—" He paused, suddenly looking nervous. "Could you maybe listen to my music?"
The entire table froze.
Cole's sandwich stopped halfway to his mouth.
Zara's drink hung suspended in air.
Jordan's mouth fell slightly open.
Zel just stared.
Even the people at nearby tables seed to sense sothing was about to happen.
The silence stretched for what felt like seventeen years.
The stream chat imdiately exploded:
HELL NAAAAH
LLLLL
HERE WE GO
WHY THEY ALWAYS DO THIS
THIS BOUT TO BE PAINFUL
NONONONONONONONO
LLLLL
AMIAS LOOK AT CHAT
OH NO OH NO OH NO
"Your music?" Amias repeated slowly, like he was translating a foreign language.
"Yeah man, I make music too! I'm probably most similar to... you know Quavo?"
Amias frowned, genuinely confused. "Quavo? Who's that?"
Cole nearly choked on his sandwich. "You don't know who Quavo is?"
"Migos, bro," Jordan added helpfully.
"Oh, I know Migos," Amias said, genuinly he had no clue who that was. "Is Quavo new or sothing?"
"Nah man," Alex laughed, apparently missing the growing tension at the table. "He's been around for years. But anyway, my style is like his but with my own twist, you feel ?"
Before anyone could respond, Alex had his phone out, finger hovering over the play button like he was about to launch a nuclear weapon.
"This is my newest joint," he announced with the confidence of soone who'd never experienced genuine feedback.
Everyone braced for impact.
What erged from the phone was... an experience.
The beat wasn't terrible—generic, sure, but functional. Then Alex's voice ca in, completely off-tempo, like he'd recorded vocals to a completely different song and just hoped for the best.
"Sll it, taste it, give 'em cheese!" he rapped with trendous enthusiasm. "I be cooking up that cheddar, make it rain with ease!"
Amias stared straight ahead, expression carefully neutral while his brain tried to process what was happening. Around the table, everyone was doing the sa—that particular brand of polite suffering that ca from being trapped in social quicksand.
The song continued relentlessly. Sothing about "making it rain cheddar" and "my flow so cold it's frozen pizza." The hook involved giving people cheese, which Alex delivered with the passion of soone announcing the cure for cancer.
The stream chat was absolute pandemonium:
LLLLLLL
JMR: YOOOOO THIS IS DEAD TRASH
VIS: soone save us plz
MARQ: LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL
Chaoticlaws: THIS THE PIZZA HUT ANTHEM
RM MTN: Bro really said give em cheese
MIKEFROMQUEENS: YOOO THIS IS BAD BAD
Tae2Smooth: I'M CRYING
Cole was studying his sandwich with the intensity of soone trying to solve quantum physics.
Zara had pulled out her phone and was typing furiously.
Jordan was biting his lip so hard it looked like it might bleed.
Amias snuck a glance at the chat and saw soone had typed "this pizza hut anthem" and he completely broke.
The laughter started as a small chuckle, then beca a full laugh, then turned into the kind of uncontrollable laughter that made your stomach hurt. Once he started, everyone else cracked. Cole doubled over, practically falling off his chair. Jordan started crying from laughing so hard. Zara was making those silent laughing motions where no sound cos out but your whole body shakes. Even Larry was smiling, which felt like witnessing a unicorn.
"Y'all really hoeing my music like that?" Alex asked, more confused than offended.
"Nah, nah," Amias managed between laughs, trying to compose himself. "It's just—"
"Let play sothing else," Alex offered, already scrolling through his phone. "This one's more serious."
Everyone imdiately stood up, the universal signal that this interaction had reached its natural conclusion.
Chairs scraped against concrete, napkins hit plates, phones were suddenly very interesting.
"Ight," ca the murmurs around the table. Various versions of "we gotta go" and "long day tomorrow" filled the air.
Amias felt genuinely bad. Not about the music—that was legitimately awful—but about the situation. He pulled out his wallet and counted out two hundred dollars in twenties.
"Look man," he said, handing Alex the money. "Keep working on your craft. Maybe invest in a better mic setup."
Alex's eyes widened at the cash. "Oh word? So you think I got potential?"
The question hung in the air like smoke. Amias looked at him—nineteen, maybe twenty, probably worked so job he hated to pay for studio ti, probably had friends who either supported his music blindly or mocked it ruthlessly, probably spent hours every day convinced he was one good song away from changing his life.
"Hard work beats talent," Amias said finally, weighing each word carefully. "And if you work hard enough, you'll make it."
"So you believe in ?" Alex pressed, clutching the money like it represented validation rather than politeness.
Amias stared at him for a long mont.
"Follow your dreams."
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